


take this time (to set the record straight)

by lodessa



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bittersweet in Context, Blindfolds, Cunnilingus, Emotional Sex, Emotionally Repressed, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Miscommunication, Missing Scene, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, References to Daenerys' Canon Relationships, Resolved Sexual Tension, Self-Denial, Self-Discovery, Set During 8x02, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 11:23:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19084030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lodessa/pseuds/lodessa
Summary: Like so many at Winterfell, Daenerys also spends her final hours before the battle with the Night King with the person who means the most to her. (Missing Scene for 8x02)





	take this time (to set the record straight)

“This way you can imagine I’m whoever you’d like,” he had said, as he carefully, placed the blindfold over her eyes. “The brooding Jon Snow. Cocky grinning Daario Naharis. Khal Drogo.”

He’s wrong, of course.

The way his hands cup her breasts is too certain for the cautious Jon Snow, too secure for teasing Daario, too careful for rough Drogo. 

The texture of his beard against her skin could only be him.

The way in which his arms wrap around her, enfolding her completely as he guides her down onto her back on the bed, could only be him.

The scars she traces with her fingertips as she runs her hands over his body blindly, could only be his.

In some ways, she is more aware of him like this, without sight to distract her, she feels and hears and smells him more thoroughly. 

She can feel the soft smile he makes against her lips, as she opens her mouth to him. She knows the way his forehead must be wrinkling right now and she can imagine the gentle shimmer that is in his eyes

She reaches her hands up to his face to trace those contours. He turns to kiss her palm and the inside of her wrist, then he takes it in his hand as he kisses his way up her arm and across her chest.

_He really is kissing every bit of me,_ she recognizes as he moves down her other arm. 

When he reaches her shoulder, she moves her hands to make contact with him once more, running through his hair, caressing his neck and shoulders, those same shoulders and arms that have carried her so many times.

His hands find her breasts again, as his mouth reaches one of them, circling under the the bottom and all around, before making its way inward towards her nipple to lick and nip and suck. She makes no more effort to hide the moans generated by that then she did the ones he swallowed with his mouth on hers.

His hand on her other breast has moved inward as well, thumb doing its best to create a faint echo of what he’s doing with his mouth. She knows these hands; she loves these hands.

She squirms against the covers when he switches sides with his mouth, the cold air hitting her stiff nipple and evaporating the moisture left behind, as he goes straight to sucking on the other.

“Feel what you are doing to me,” she groans, following the path of his arm down to his hand and guiding it down between her legs to where she’s slick with arousal.

She feels it when he almost replies, before evidently deciding that would ruin the nonexistent illusion he’s working so hard to try give her.

Instead, he starts moving further down her torso with his lips, as he grinds the heel of the hand between her thighs slowly in circles, a relief and provocation of the growing tension there.

He kisses his way down to her hips and then across, before proceeding down again over her thigh and further still as he guides her knee up to reach her shin and down to the top of her foot, the inside and outside of her ankle, and then lifts her foot in his hand so he can make his way up her calf and kiss the bend in the back of her knee.

As he reaches the apex of her thighs, he shifts to move down the opposite side and she groans, enjoying the feelings he is generating but aching with longing. She arches her hips up into the contact of his hand, as each press of his lips sending a shiver of need coursing through her body. 

In response, he shifts to using his thumb where she needs it most, a more direct form of contact that makes her quiver slightly, and then he presses one of his fingers inside of her at the same time. 

He sucks on a particularly reactive spot on her inner thigh, to the point where she’s certain he must be leaving a mark which will not fade for many days.

Finally, he makes his way back up, breath warm against her core. He proceeds to replace his thumb with his mouth, sliding a second finger inside of her as he licks and then sucks.

The truth is that she was already on edge before he began, elsewise it might not have happened. 

“You seem tense, Khaleesi,” he had observed, clearly noticing how restless she had been: aching, longing to be touched... to be undone.

“I hate being alone. I do not think I was built for it, for loneliness, to go unloved, un-” she had cut herself off, but far later than she usually would have. 

She hadn’t said what was painfully obvious, that she had put herself out there with Jon Snow and now he was avoiding her. 

She hadn’t said that even before that, what she had hoped they would have had felt every bit as insubstantial as what she’d had with Daario, diverting but not satisfying. With Daario that had been part of the appeal, but with Jon it had not been what she’d been looking for. _I wanted something real_ she’d mentally admitted. _Drogo and I grew together over time_ she had told herself initially, but it had seemed an unlikely case when Jon had pulled away abruptly.

Jorah had understood anyway, had looked into her eyes and promised her, “You shouldn’t have to be. You don’t have to be. There are those who would give anything for even a taste of your favor, never doubt that.”

There was a time, when knowing his feelings for her had made her feel sick. There had been a time when it had made her uncomfortable, even frightened. She hadn’t felt any of those things then, though. She had felt something else entirely.

He would slit Jon’s throat if she asked, she had considered, without hesitation. Was that really what she had wanted from him, though? It occurred to her that she had been sharing this much with him for a reason but that reason she knew already wasn’t vengeance or bloodshed.

“Like you?” she had instead asked, once again reaching out where she would usually have pulled back.

“I would not presume-” He had been the one to pull back then, fearful he’d crossed a line.

“Why not?” she had pressed. “Do you not desire me, my faithful bear?”

“You know I do,” he had swallowed. “It is not **my** desire in question.”

“Take off your clothes,” she’d found the conviction to command. “Give your queen what for so long you have silently offered.”

Now here she is, blindly writhing on the bed as he does exactly what his eyes have promised for so long, though she can only imagine them now. He crooks his fingers within her, tongue circling and she cries out in pleasure as she peaks.

“Jorah...” she shudders, as he continues lapping at her as she comes back down, shaking and squeezing.

“Ssshhhh,” he murmurs, before redoubling his efforts as he turns to sucking, reaching his free hand up to cover her breast, while he begins to move the fingers of the other one in and out of her in earnest.

Her body continues to shake, though the movements are smaller now. Only Jorah, she thinks, only her loyal knight would feel this way, would be so over thorough without being dull.

There have been other times, she admits to herself, when she thought of doing this, of inviting him into her bed, but she’d always pulled back before. The truth is that she hadn’t been ready, to face the intensity and depth of his feelings unleashed. 

Right now, she is the one unleashed, as she feels herself getting close, as he draws her to the point of release again. This time her reaction is more drawn out, less a violent outburst and more like a wave washing over the sand.

This time she tugs at his shoulders, urging him back up her body, greedily drawing his face to hers blindly with her hands on either side and kissing his sticky face and mouth. She then runs her hands over his body, drawing him closer down onto her with one hand clutching one of his shoulders and the other gripping his backside

“I want you,” she whispers, “You. Not just someone to love me but you.”

She feels him tense in response, making a strangled noise before kissing her with renewed vigor, as if to stop his own mouth. Arching her hips up, she welcomes him as he slides into her at last, pressing deep inside of her.

No one has ever held her so close. His body is all over hers and he thrusts in short deep strokes that keep him mostly within her, like he can’t stand to let go, even for a moment. 

“Take the blindfold off,” she entreats, fumbling helplessly with it herself, “I want to look into your eyes… “

“Khaleesi?” he hesitates, stilling his movement as he reaches out and unties the blindfold, tossing it to the side, as he stares down at her.

Her throat goes dry as she takes him in, sees the awe and passion in his eyes, the hesitant hope. He’s paler now, than he once was when they both were baking daily under the hot Essos sun, older too and yet that seems less monumental than it once did. 

“I’m not imagining someone else in your place. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t want to either,” the words come tumbling out of her mouth. 

“Why? When?” he starts to ask and then shakes his head and reaches down to caress her cheek instead. “Can it truly be?”

“It is,” she promises, straining up to kiss him. She’s not sure why she didn’t tell him as much to begin with, why she hide behind pretending this was a momentary impulse and unintentional.

“I thought…” he murmurs, “I thought this was... something else. I didn’t dare hope.”

It wasn’t for him, she knows, that she let the lie of omission stand. It was for herself. She’d thought she could lie to herself about what this meant, about where she was headed. But she wishes it no longer.

“I wasn’t ready,” she admits to them both, “I wasn’t ready before, but I am now. I have been for longer than I realized.”

This time, she doesn’t have to imagine his face, as he rocks within her. It’s not gentle and it isn’t rough, but strong and firm and right. 

“You are a dream made flesh,” he tells her. 

She wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and loses herself in the feeling of him around and inside of her and the look in his eyes as he thrusts.

“I need you,” she gasps, as he hits the right angle, “You!”

She unwraps her legs from around him, placing her feet back on the bed so she can arch up off the bed to meet him. 

“I’m here,” he almost rumbles, his voice low and resonant, “I will never abandon you.”

“I’ll never send you away again,” she promises, feeling the difference of this from what has come before. “Your place is with me.”

Her hands grip his shoulders and their rhythm becomes more urgent, the angle of their bodies maintaining a great deal of contact the whole time. She makes no effort to swallow her pleasure at every stroke, as he slides just so against her front wall and her moans turn to shrieks of enjoyment as she squeezes and shakes around him, staring into his face the whole while.

“I love you,” he grunts, starting to shake himself. He doesn’t let up, as she cries out his name, “I live for you…”

She watches his eyes glaze over as the warm rush of his release floods her, causing an aftershock of sensation to spike through her body. 

He blinks and seems to refocus, finding her eyes with his as he kisses her more softly, a slow lingering kiss, before he pulls back and rolls off her to collapse beside her on the bed.

She curls herself against his side and he wraps his arm around her, drawing her close. She knows they cannot stay like this, not tonight, not when the dead will be here before dawn and she had unfinished business to attend to. Still, she lies here in his embrace and feels sated: content, safe, and loved.

“Thank you,” she tells him, caressing his face with her hand as she guides it towards hers. “For knowing what I needed.”

She kisses him one last time, before sitting up to rise.

“I have to go,” she sighs.

“I understand,” he tells her, but he is visibly saddened.

“There will be other times,” she promises. “I’m so thankful for that, that you came back when I thought you lost to me forever.”

She has to get up and dress. She needs to go find Jon Snow and clear the air between them about their shared misstep. She needs to be in position to climb atop Drogon and fight the Night King at a moment’s notice.

“I loathe that I cannot be there to guard your back in the fight to come,” Jorah tells her. “I know you are safer in the sky, but...”

“I know,” she tells him, leaning again to kiss his forehead before his mouth in reassurance. 

She realizes now: that she had found herself most desperate and lonely when he was not with her. She realizes now: that she lost part of herself when she sent him into banishment. She realizes now: that when she sent him to find a cure for his greyscale, she had feared she lost him for good and that is why she had been so eager to believe that Jon could be her answer.

**Author's Note:**

> An anon asked: "For the kink meme, Dany/Jorah with shaving kink or bondage/restraint (and/or blindfolds)" and I started two times with more kink centered concepts, before realizing that sometimes emotional kinks are really where I am at and writing this. I did manage the blindfolding for most of the fic! Sorry this turned out less tawdry and more sappy, anon. I do have at least one much more bawdy idea for these two.


End file.
